


Behind These Gilded Bars

by drippingwithsin



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006), Wentworth (TV)
Genre: I love these two alpha females, Manipulation, Strong Hints of Mirandy, Threats All Around, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drippingwithsin/pseuds/drippingwithsin
Summary: Thrown in prison deep in a foreign country for a crime she didn't commit, Andy's only hope is Miranda Priestly herself. But what will happen when the devil in Prada finally comes face to face with someone who may very well have much bigger horns than her?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	Behind These Gilded Bars

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely going bonkers with this damn self-isolating quarantining thing so my brain decided to play the "what-if" game. In consequence, this is probably inaccurate as hell, as I didn't research anything. Like at all. Also, it was written extremely quickly so mistakes and all that. I still hope all enjoy though. 
> 
> Warning: If you have never watched one of these shows then you're going to be lost as a goose.

The series of events which took place on one Thursday evening in the midst of another one of Australia’s ungodly summers happens in such rapid session that even Miranda Priestly herself is left still reeling days later. One moment, the editor is eviscerating a makeup artist for using non-waterproof makeup in ninety degree heat. Honestly? What goes through these young women’s brains she’ll never begin to know. The next, her along with the faithful Runway crew are being swarmed by Melburne’s finest with guns drawn. 

Yet, to everyone’s complete and utter shock they were not after Runway specifically. No, such dishonor falls specifically to her newly appointed first assistant Andréa Sachs.

And for once the Miranda Priestly is powerless when her poor sweet Andréa gets practically hurled to the ground and handcuffed like some sort of common criminal.

Trafficking drugs, they say. Ridiculous. It was like pulling teeth to get the girl to even take an aspirin when she has the occasional sinus headache. 

Nonetheless from then on the days which follow carry on in an endless stream of phone calls, appointments and red tape. So much damn red tape. Honestly, one would think Andréa occupied the top of Australia's most wanted list the way they carried on. 

She didn’t even so much as receive a trial before they sent her off to some God-forsaken prison. The treatment is a slap to the face and will not go unpunished. 

Dragon unleashed. Miranda calls them immediately to see Andréa. 

A voice akin to chilled vodka coats her ear from the other line. Professionally polite albeit firm. It gives her an answer the royal highness of Prada has not heard since the spring of 1994.

_No,_

Miranda demands, threatens and bares teeth. 

The other remains dully unimpressed.

Oh, she _will_ be talking to this glorified mall cop in person.

* * *

Through the gates of hell, the devil of fashion does go. Red-soled Louboutins clacking in an authoritative(angry) rhythm along the sickly colored vinyl flooring. She was on a mission of mercy. 

Wentworth seems a bit more laxed than what she expected, Miranda notes. Even if it was a minimum security prison she expected well, more. 

Of course, the only prisons she has to go by are the ones from late-night documentaries. 

After a horrendously invasive body search, Miranda is escorted to the front desk by an officer where a younger woman’s face is half hidden behind a computer screen. There is no physical acknowledgement of her presence, just a tired drawn out. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m here to see Governor Ferguson.” 

At the foreign sound of an American accent, curious beady eyes finally glance from the screen only to scrutinize over her as if she were nothing more than a criminal herself. “Name?” 

“Miranda Priestly,”

There’s not even a flinch. Or even a glint of acknowledgement. Not surprising really considering what the little urchin is wearing. 

Keeping her gaze firmly on Miranda she picks up the phone. 

“Gov’ner, there’s a Mrs. Priestly here to see you.”

_“Send her in.”_

"Yes, Gov'ner," She hangs the phone up and looks back at Miranda. "You may enter,"

Miranda glares over her shades at the woman for a second before doing as told.

The door opens, revealing only an ebony crown of hair sticking up from behind a computer monitor.

“Ah, yes, Mrs. Priestly do come in.”

Once Miranda enters fully the woman rises, smoothing down a hideously green wool uniform as she does so. She straightens to all six foot two of her height and burgundy lips bestow Miranda a faux friendly smile. 

“Please, Mrs. Preistly.” Joan Ferguson the current governor of Wentworth flourishes a hand over a chair situated by another in the centre. "Want you sit down."

* * *

Behind her desk, Joan eyes the woman pensively, taking note of every single microscopical detail with deadly accuracy. 

The hair is perfectly coiffed and completely naturally white. A truly bold statement considering the norm of today. 

_Just like me, she doesn't care how others perceive her._

Admirable yet possibly problematic.

Joan moves down to the designer clothing, and accessories. Expensive. Everything screams privilege. She’s wealthy-extremely so. Nothing new there considering her occupation. Joan takes note of the position of the slight frame. Her posture is absolutely perfect. Straight backed and posed. Used to dealing with underlings. 

_And if they were not underlings she made them think so._

Spoiled, finicky. Miranda Priestly all and all is a woman who is used to getting what she wants and three days before she actually says so.

_Yet_

The subtle scars on porcelain hands especially along each of the fingertips speak of an entirely different person. One long since gone but very much alive. 

Ah yes, Miranda Priestly was not born with a silver spoon. No. This woman ruthlessly severed the nearest hand who held it and doubtlessly a few others as well to claim one as her own. 

“Yes, I’m here to see my assistant. Andréa Sachs. Where is she?” Miranda asks or rather demands snappishly.

The voice is neither raised nor mind gratingly sharp. It’s low and smooth reminding Joan of her first real sip of vodka. 

_Well, well what_ **_high_ ** _heels you have, little American._

Joan feels a burst of greediness. Oh, how delightful. It’s been quite some time since she’s spoken beast to another outside these walls. 

Yes, this should turn out to be quite an interesting evening. 

* * *

While being assessed, Miranda finds herself unknowing doing the same. Tall, full-bodied with pale skin and rich black hair. She is a beauty of the old. Built to endure the harshness of war and famine. And judging by the way she holds herself Miranda highly doubts she’ll be the dutiful housewife waiting anxiously for her beloved soldier’s return.

No, 

There’s too much steel. Too much confidence there. It’s in her voice, coating a slickened tongue. Glinting in a cool dark deadly gaze and even shimmering at her temples. 

Miranda notes yets decides to ignore these signs for now.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible at the moment. We’ve gotten strict orders not to allow visitors. Ms. Sachs will be in protective custody until further-”

Miranda’s lips purse with displeasure and dismisses the answer altogether. “Spare me the details of your incompetence. Now, I wish to see Andréa Sachs before this day is over or do I have to speak to this prison’s supervisor. Your supervisor.”

Joan stiffens. Well now. She expected a reaction but never one this soon or really so blunt. Impressed and a bit amused, her professionalism just barely manages to remain unwaverable. 

“As I said before Mrs. Priestly that is quite impossible at the moment.” She emphasises the formality, pettily enjoying the seething glare it brings. Yes, her hair may be white but she loathes being reminded of her age. Ha

“Are you incapable of hearing? I fail to see how difficult is it to comprehend a simple task? Now either I see Ms. Sachs within the hour or I will be calling your superior and I guarantee you won’t like the results.” 

The threat is thinly veiled but all too clear. Either comply or your job will be forfeit.

It’s a mistake. One Miranda may come regret for the rest of her life.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere. The temperature in the room plummets dramatically and instead of the predicted sputtering of an apology or even the comical blanch the governor merely stares back, oval face impassive. Those deep dark eyes dig deep, searching.

Instinct overriding bravado Miranda feels the hair along her body prickle. There’s something deeply disturbing about this woman. Something abnormal and ominous. 

It’s the eyes. Something whispers. 

They are cold and calculating. Distant, but completely totally aware of everything around them.

 _She has the eyes of a serial killer._ Miranda concludes and subtly shifts uncomfortably in her seat. Slight body betraying her by leaning toward the only exit.

The action does not go unnoticed. _Nothing_ ever does.

There’s a sort of ‘huh’ and Joan rises with a small stack of papers in hand. Her impressive form seemingly dwarfing the entire room as long powerful legs propel her to the door. She opens it. “Ms. August, would you be a dear and bring these to Ms. Bennett for me."

"Yes, Gov'nor."

The door clicks shut.

The woosh and snap of the blinds being pulled shut next sounds like a gunshot throughout the empty office. Miranda's traitorously heart picks up pace.

Now it's just the two of them. All alone.

Joans sits once more, idly picking up a no.2 pencil as she does so. It’s far too casual for Miranda’s comfort. Almost like a cat biding its time to pounce on a mouse. 

Miranda may be a lot of things but a mouse she wasn’t. Steeling herself, she waits.

One heartbeat, followed by two more.

“Andrea’s quite an attractive girl, isn’t she?” Ferguson remarks out of the blue, peering down at agile fingers as they idly caress and twirl the pencil like a mini-baton.“Yes, I bet she’s a welcome sight indeed especially when one’s surrounded by a sea of emaciated bodies all day.”

Porcelain cheeks slowly bleeding red. Miranda’s heart skips a beat. She has a strong feeling of where this is going. But like a train wreck, she can only watch in horror as it takes place.

“Of course, I don’t need to tell you that.” Dark eyes dart back to Miranda. Her lips curl into a slow catlike smirk. “Do I?” 

Miranda’s pale lips purse farther in defiance even as small hands began to shake. “I don’t think I like what you’re attempting to imply here. Now, all I want to do is speak to my assistant for a moment. Is that truly such a difficult task to accomplish?”

Miranda tries to deter. To kick away. But there’s entirely too much blood in the water. The great white circles, continuing its pursuit anew. 

The smile grows. Its glint becomes vicious. Dangerous. Maw wide, the governor ignores the bait and goes straight for the dragon’s most valuable spot. The heart.

“Tell me, Mrs. Priestly. Have you _fucked_ her yet?”

The bold vulgarity sends Miranda into a tailspin. And for the first time and a long time she’s caught off guard. Nonetheless, Miranda's eyelids narrow over artic. “Excuse me?”

“I see.” Joan’s eyes crinkle slyly. Knowingly. 

Miranda opens her mouth with a retort at the tip of her tongue but, a mighty hand waves it away.

“Don’t worry I’m not judging you. After all, a pretty little bird like that would be hard for anyone to ignore.” Joan says, shooting her a cheeky wink. 

Sick of this game and baring her throat, Miranda lashes out. “How dare you? How dare you speak to me in such a way? Do you have any idea what I could do-”

“Threaten all you like, but both you and I know you won’t. Not when you’re so very far away from home and all alone.”

Miranda blood boils at the sheer audacity. She leans forward in her seat, medusa’s gaze freezing the titan in place. 

“I don’t know who you may think you are, sitting here in this little,” Sapphires glance around in disgust.“Rathole; lording yourself over petty criminals and pushing papers, but if you think for one moment just for one that I’m completely powerless in this country then you’re sorely mistaken, _Governor_.”

Ah there she is; the famous dragon of New York. Yes, show me. Show me that fire I've heard so much about. Joan feels giddy.

“Now I _will_ be seeing Andréa . Perhaps not today or even tomorrow, but soon and without _your_ permission.”

“And you may very well achieve that, but I wonder; does your husband number what? three? Four?” She smirks when lips purse at the latter. “Fouth. Know of your little-midlife crisis or is this another secret you wish to keep?” 

Another threat. This one, however, shoots out akin to a lasso. Wrapping around Miranda’s neck in a noose, it tightens until there’s a nearly overwhelming burn. 

Miranda can just see the complete utter devastation this knowledge could bring happening within her mind's eye. 

_MEET THE DRAGON LADY'S YOUNG MISTRESS_

_THE POOR LONESOME LIFE OF MR. PRIESTlY_

If he ever were to find out, Stephen would doubtlessly take everything.

Back now firmly pressed into a corner and far too angry to speak, Miranda merely glares at the woman for a few moments before silently getting up. The Governor may have won this round but Miranda will be damned if she sees her grovel. 

She just reaches for the doorknob when Joan speaks once more. 

“Oh, and Mrs. Priestly,” 

Miranda makes the mistake of looking back. 

“If I find out you’ve attempted to tamper with my career in any way, any way at all, I’ll make you very sorry. Very sorry indeed.” Absessel orbs burrow straight into Miranda’s soul. “And I’ll begin with that little doe-eyed secret of yours.”

It comes out not as a threat, but a promise.

* * *

In the parking lot, Miranda quickly pulls out her cell and dials. It rings exactly twice before a raspy sleep-induced voice crackles on the other end.

“Hel-”

“I don’t care what you have to do. Who you have to pay, I want Andréa Sachs out of Wentworth immediately.” 


End file.
